The following poem by New Testament scholar Ben Witherington III, posted on his blog here (along with thoughts on the virgin conception), neatly expresses how I have experienced Advent and Christmas this year. Germany seems to celebrate these festivals far more ostentatiously then England (though with far more taste!), and the experience has once again left a bitter-sweet taste in my mouth. Enjoy the poem:
THE BONDING
A cold and listless season,
And full of cheerless cheer,
When hopes are raised and dashed again
And joy dissolves in tears.
The search for endless family
The search for one true Friend
Leaves questers tired, disconsolate
With questions without end.
Best find some potent pleasure quick
Some superficial thrill
Than search for everlasting love
When none can fill that bill.
So hide yourselves in shopping
And eating ‘til you burst,
Use endless entertainment
As shelter from the worst.
And hope at least for truce on earth,
Though warlords rattle swords
As if to kill could solve our ills
We seize our ‘just’ rewards.
Mistake some rest for lasting peace
And calm for ‘all is well’
And absence of activity
As year end’s victory bell.
But what if Advent is no quest
Despite the wise men’s star
What if Advent isn’t reached
By driving from afar?
What if Good News comes to us
From well beyond our reach?
What if love and peace on earth
Are more than things we preach?
What if a restless peace
Is what He did intend
Until we open up our lives
And let the stranger in?
What if a peaceless rest
Is not the Christmas hope
What if nothing we could do
Helps us truly cope?
What if there is a bonding
With one who rules above
Who came to us in beggar’s rags
And brought the gift of love?
The God shaped hole in every heart
Is healed by just one source
When Jesus comes to claim his own
Who are without recourse.
So give up endless seeking
Surrender is required
The one who is the Lord of all
Cannot be bought or hired,
He’s not conjured into life
By pomp and circumstance
By Yuletide carols boldly sung
By fun or drunken trance.
He comes unbidden, unawares
Fills crevices of souls
He comes on his own timely terms
And makes the sinner whole.
‘We shall be restless’ said the saint
‘Until we rest in thee’
And find that we have been reborn,
Our own nativity.
How silently, how silently
The precious truth is given
And God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heaven.
BW3
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